


folklore and symbolism of flowers, plants and trees

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Hux is the worst at apologies, Kylo likes him for some ungodly reason, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: Hux buys flowers for his office nemesis. As one does. Naturally, it all goes downhill from there.for thelanguage of flowersprompt from the@kyluxcantina





	

**Author's Note:**

> title was shamelessly stolen from the book of the same name

“You don’t think it’s a little… I don’t know, crazy? Not to mention, sort of pointless? For fuck’s sake, Hux, he won’t even know what they mean.”

“But I’ll know,” Hux insists, taking another gulp of his dark chocolate stout. He still isn’t sure he likes it; it feels thick in his mouth, coating his tongue, the back of his throat, leaving behind an acrid, burnt taste.

Phasma sighs.

“So, what, you think this makes you better than the people who just leave passive-aggressive notes around the office? In this workspace, printer toner doesn’t replace itself? If you have any questions about how to wash your dishes, please try to remember you’re a responsible adult, that sort of thing?”

“He’s beyond notes. Or notes are beyond him. Phasma, he’s horrible. You don’t know how horrible he is. You don’t have to see him every day, for eight hours.”

“No, but I see you every day. I guess if you’re so set on following through with this -- whatever this is,” Phasma says, gesturing wide with her bottle, “then I hope it works for you. Honestly, Hux. When’s the last time we had a conversation that started with something other than _you’ll never guess what Kylo "The Menace" Ren did this time_?”

“You know what? I don’t need this,” Hux says, dumping the dregs of the stout into his mouth. The foam sticks to his lips, and he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, leaving it feeling unpleasantly sticky as well. “I don’t need your approval, and I don’t need you coddling me, and I don’t need this, this -- don’t buy any more of this beer, all right? It’s repulsive. Who decided that malt and chocolate even mix?”

“Could work for making chili,” Phasma allows, and stands up from the couch. “I’m going to forgive you for being an incredible ass right now, because in a minute, I’m going to go to bed, and you’re going to stay up and do the dinner dishes, and take out the garbage. Because you’re a decent roommate who isn’t in the habit of starting conflicts he’ll later regret.”

“Fine,” Hux agrees, and starts gathering up the empties from the coffee table. “I’m still going to do it, though. And it’s going to feel good.”

“Yes, as it usually does when one buys flowers for one’s office nemesis,” Phasma says. “Good night.”

\---

The bouquet, Hux has to admit, looks nice. It has to; the flowers he’s picked out may say _you’re the worst_ in exquisite detail, but the colors and shapes work together quite well. He would have almost liked to slap his credit card on the counter and demand the floral assistant put together the biggest _fuck you_ bouquet money could buy, but he finds, as he walks through the shop, that he’s enjoying picking out the blooms himself. It’s been quite some time since he’s bought flowers for anyone, let alone in person rather than through a website; the last might have been the ones he ordered for Brendol and Maratelle’s anniversary, two dozen striped carnations, _disdain_ in a border of foamy, white meadowsweet for what he feels is an ironic, appropriately biting touch of _uselessness_.

He starts Ren’s bouquet with _anger_ , deceptively sweetly pink peonies he decides to accent with puffy, pale candytufts for _cold indifference_. A few striped carnations would work here as well; he picks ones that are mostly white, edged in dark burgundy. Yellow, _I despise you_ , would probably send a stronger message, but he doesn’t want the bouquet to look garish. The shop doesn’t carry basil, so he makes do with a few ferns for a touch of green and _sincerity_ , to reinforce the meaning of the peonies and carnations, then ties the stems together with ribbon to finish the whole thing off.

The girl at the counter doesn’t comment on the meanings as she rings him up, which annoys Hux just a slight touch more than he’d like to admit.

Halfway to work, he wonders if he should have added a card, or a note. Perhaps just Ren’s name, to ensure he doesn’t decide the flowers were delivered in error. Has Ren ever received flowers at work? Would he recognize Hux’s handwriting? Perhaps he could write only Ren’s initials, or else use his left hand for deliberate sloppiness? Could today possibly be the day Ren finally arrives at the office on time, or somehow, even early, leaving Hux with no means to deposit the flowers on his desk without risking detection?

A few steps away from the doors, he drapes his raincoat over his arm, letting it cover the flowers, then moves it quickly aside, concerned that they don’t get crushed. Waiting for the glacial descent of the elevator after he presses the button, he covers the flowers with his coat again, more gently this time. It’s rather too late now, he decides mournfully, but he really ought to have gotten a better bouquet sleeve. Taller, wider, made of thicker foil and more protective at the top.

Ren, _of course_ , is predictably, thankfully late, the loud crinkling of a protein bar wrapper and the heavy scrape of chair wheels over carpet announcing his arrival. Hux's pulse speeds up, and his palms are suddenly clammy and moist. As much as he would like to see the stunned, surprised expression on Ren’s long, pale face when he notices the flowers sitting in front of his keyboard, he needs to stay back, play it cool, at least for the time being. Let Ren bring it up, first.

Lord knows, Ren never keeps his unreasonably big mouth shut about anything for long.

\---

“Did you know that manatees can eat up to ten percent of their body weight every day?”

Hux lifts his head up from NetSuite.

“What?”

Ren’s leaning over the wall of his cube, chin pillowed on his hands. He’s smiling wide, making his face appear slightly more lopsided than usual.

“Manatees. They can eat -- ”

“Yes, I understood that part,” Hux says, and anxiously clicks his mouse. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, nothing, I guess. I watched this documentary about them last night,” Ren explains, not even having the decency to look contrite. Hux sighs, waiting for him to get somewhere relevant; it’s an obnoxious habit Ren’s got, never just coming right out with it. No, he has to crane awkwardly into Hux’s cubicle, making the wall creak ominously, like it might just collapse under his weight some day in the very near future, then blurt out some factoid about whatever it is he’s currently fixating upon. Manatees, apparently. SpaceX. The playoffs. Francois Rabelais. Fallout 4. Kaiseki.

To be perfectly fair, Ren’s descriptions of abalone with truffles in ponzu sauce had been enticing enough that later that evening, Hux found himself sitting, enraptured, through three episodes of Chef’s Table in a row, and finally adding Jiro Dreams of Sushi to his queue, four or five years behind just about everyone, though Ren certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Hey, so, you were here early,” Ren says finally, and licks his mouth. Hux watches him chew on his lower lip, another profoundly unpleasant tic. He finally lets it loose from where it’s hitched between his teeth, reddened and a little bit swollen, glistening pruriently with saliva.

Hux props his cheek on his palm and pretends to listen attentively as Ren rattles off the facts, another smile bisecting his visage: flowers, no note, no clear vector of delivery.

“You didn’t happen to see who dropped them off? Did someone sign for them?”

“I didn’t sign for them,” Hux interjects a little too quickly. “They’re not from your boyfriend?”

Ren hasn’t had a boyfriend since Poe and he split a few months ago, but Hux does his best to appear aloof and unaware of office gossip.

“Nah, we broke up,” Ren says, shaking his head. “I thought maybe they were from him, too, like maybe he was thinking we should get back together, or something.”

He doesn’t look disappointed, Hux notes with mild concern.

“They weren’t?”

“Nope, thank god. I really wasn’t looking forward to having to tell him it was a profoundly awful idea. We were the worst couple,” Ren says, and smiles again, inexplicably. Hux’s cheek twitches.

“You’re not… unhappy?” Hux presses. “It’s just -- you used to talk about him all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” Ren shrugs. “I’m gonna go ask Unamo if she saw anything.”

“Maybe they’re not even for you. Was there a card, or a note? Maybe they were delivered in error.”

“Maybe,” Ren echoes. “That would be a shame. I took the foil off, and put them in water already.”

Hux grits his teeth and clicks around his screen, closing NetSuite entirely. His chair squeaks and scrapes at the floor as he stands up.

“I need coffee,” he pronounces, biting at the inside of his cheek until it hurts. He has no idea why he thought anonymous flowers would make Ren uncomfortable, or why their actual meaning isn’t making him, Hux, feel the satisfaction he’d been hoping for. “By all means, go do your detective work before the monthly report. I’m sure Snoke will be delighted with your findings.”

“Are you OK? You’re being less of a dick than usual,” Ren says, deadpan, but retreats to his own cubicle all the same as Hux tromps off towards the break room.

On his way back, the mug of fresh coffee in his hands releasing its sweet hazelnut steam, he glances over at Ren’s desk. The flowers are, indeed, devoid of their packaging, though Ren has left them tied together with the gold metallic ribbon. In lieu of a vase, he’s put them into his emptied out pencil cup, and now has a mechanical PaperMate tucked behind his left ear, making it stick out even more. Another is in his mouth. Invoices for the monthly report are spread out in front of him, and Ren sucks on the pencil between his lips thoughtfully as he pulls the one down from behind his ear, and underlines three rows of debits. He lets the pencil slide out of his mouth a little, then sucks it back in.

Repulsive.

Hux’s spine tingles unpleasantly. He shudders.

\---

Once, before Kylo started dating Poe, and before Hux realized exactly how much he despised him, Kylo had given him a tipsy and very sloppy blowjob in the third floor bathroom during the company’s annual holiday party. Hux kept stupidly clutching his drink in his hands the entire time, a vile concoction of vanilla rum and peppermint schnapps topped with a melting candy cane. His fingers left sticky prints on the glass as Kylo took him in to the root, until the tip of his oversized nose was tickling through Hux’s pubic hair, and Hux held the drink tighter, leaned his head back against the wall to keep his footing. Kylo’s face was dark red, sweaty, hair plastered to his forehead and a strand of it falling down into his eyes. His chin was wet with spit, and he bobbed on Hux’s dick like a pornstar, big, messy slurps of tongue around the glans before he swallowed deep again. Hux felt dizzy, buzzed, boneless. Kylo grabbed at his hips, stroked his ass, moving faster, and Hux moaned low, felt his knuckles turn white on the glass as he held on for dear life.

“Anyone could have walked in,” he was snapping minutes later, “what if it was someone from HR, or worse. What were you thinking?”

Kylo stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I guess I was thinking maybe we could pick this up somewhere else? You could take me home,” he said, before there were voices and steps coming down the hall outside, and Hux shoved at him impatiently, hands shaking.

“Get into the stall. Right now,” he hissed. Set down his drink, finally. Turned the sink on. Got busy rubbing his hands together under the water, like everything was fine.

He avoided Kylo for the rest of the night, stayed late to help clean up, and split a cab with Thanisson, already fretting about having to face Kylo in the office the following Monday. Kylo texted him Saturday, and again on Sunday. Hux double-checked to make sure it wasn’t about work; it wasn’t, so he didn’t bother responding.

“Hey, uh,” Ren said Monday morning, leaning over the top of his cube. “Did you -- did you -- “

“What,” Hux said, without lifting his face away from the screen.

“I. Uh. Did you know that the Giuoco Piano is one of Garry Kasparov’s favorite chess openings?”

He mispronounced _Kasparov_ , and it made something in Hux’s chest grate.

“What?” he asked again.

“I watched this documentary,” Ren said, and leaned harder onto his cubicle wall.

\---

Nobody dumps any projects on him last minute, and Snoke is out of the office for the afternoon, so Hux finishes work on time for a change, wrapping up at only a few minutes past five. He’s thinking about ordering some takeout, so absorbed in scrolling through the menu on his phone that he almost walks right into Ren at the elevator, bristling as he steps back.

“Hey, careful,” Ren says, holding out one arm. He’s protectively cradling the bouquet of flowers to his stupidly wide chest with the other, the bright pink of the peonies standing out stark against the black of his suit, and Hux stares at him dumbly as the elevator chimes.

“You all right, Hux?”

“Yeah,” Hux says dismissively. “You’re taking them home?”

“Well, yes,” Ren says, selecting the ground floor. “Why wouldn’t I? Did you think I wouldn’t like them? Is that why you’ve been so weird all day?”

“Why would I care if you didn’t like your mystery bouquet?” Hux starts as the elevator doors slide open, depositing them in the lobby.

“Hux, come on. I know they’re from you. Only you would randomly decide to apologize to someone in such an incredibly roundabout way.”

“Apologize?” Hux says, as they walk outside. The evening sun is low, but it still feels too bright.

“It took me a little bit to figure it out,” Ren smiles, bringing the bouquet up to his face and taking a sniff. “Candytufts are coldness and rejection, and carnations have a bunch of meanings, so I had to sort how they go together. Peonies are for shame, and bashfulness. And ferns mean sincerity, so you were embarrassed about being -- well, the way you were being, and too shy to say so, but you really meant it. And white carnations are for endearment, and dark red ones are for affection, but you picked these striped ones, which usually mean indecision, but you did pick them in those two colors. So. It made sense. Once I got it.”

“I didn’t -- that’s not what -- how did you even know --” Hux says, and Ren smiles again, that lopsided boyish smile Hux absolutely, positively, thoroughly cannot stand.

“Remember, I told you I read that article on the meanings of flowers in Victorian England, and you said you certainly didn’t need an explanation from me about something you already knew like the back of your hand, and to get my own hobby?”

“Yes,” Hux mutters, looking away. In retrospect, he could have probably phrased that nicer.

“Well, just so you know: I accept,” Ren says. “Your apology. I mean, it’s not exactly standard, but it’s very -- _you_. And I really do like the flowers.”

“Oh,” Hux says, blinking rapidly. His eyes feel suddenly scratchy, but the constricting, taut lump in his chest that’s been there all day is gone. He should probably say something else, something other than _oh_ to Ren’s waiting face; he opens his mouth, and takes a deep, relieved breath.

“I was going to go to the noodle place on Third. Saw the ramen episode of Chef’s Table and been craving it ever since. Do you want to maybe...?” he trails off, waits for Ren to fill the silence.

“Get your own hobby,” Ren says, wagging the flowers at him, but he’s still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr is here](http://cracktheglasses.tumblr.com/), you know the drill


End file.
